Throes of Passion
by cookie-moi
Summary: A fanfic of a fanfic.An alternative scene for chapter 10 of Miss Puppet's "Romance must advertise". What might have happened if Dr. Wellington had reached for Isobel Crawley. A belated Christmas/early New Year's present for Miss Puppet.
1. Up the table

**Title: Throes of Passion**

**Rating:** T... or slight M  
><strong>Important Note:<strong> This is a fanfic of a fanfic. I just love Miss Puppet's _"Romance must advertise" _and her OC Dr. Timothy Wellington. Go and read it first! Because you need to. At least up to chapter 11!  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>If I mention Wellington... of course it's Isobel/Timothy! :D *crazy fangirl ahoy!*  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Downton Abbey and Isobel Crawley belong to Julian Fellowes, I just borrow her for a bit to let her play. The text in italics belongs to the wonderful Miss Puppet. Just like Timothy Wellington whom I just had to borrow. Again. The whole Idea belongs to the fantastic Batwings. Nothing's mine really, apart from spelling and grammar mistakes.

**Other:** Okay... first of all, I completely blame this on Batwings and her comment on chapter 10 for "Romance must advertise". :D I didn't want to write it – seriously - but my mind and fingers wouldn't leave me alone (or maybe I'm just losing my crumbles). Even during long Christmas nights, which equals creative grammar. So tell me about mistakes you find.  
>Second: Originally it was intended to be 1000 words long... just missed it by 5500 (just can't keep to the point)... I just hope this isn't stretching it too far at a whole. And that it is any good. o.O<br>Third: This is a belated-Christmas-nearly-New-Year-gift for Miss Puppet. I hope you like it. ;)  
>Last but not least: As always there's a cookie-tin waiting at the end... have fun searching for it.^^<p>

~~o~~

_Soon he became aware of other sensations. The way here hands brushed against his stomach and sides as she worked on closing the wound. How soft and warm her hands were and how gentle her touch was. Despite the discomfort of the procedure he felt how his breath caught every time her hands came in contact with his bare skin. ´Pull yourself together man,´ he told himself sternly. ´This is Isobel Crawley of all people. And´s she´s stitching you up because some lunatic stabbed you. Get a grip!´_

'_Are you alright?´ Her voice was almost as soft as her hands, causing a swirl of emotions to rise in his chest._

_´I suppose I am, why do you ask?´ he managed before his voice cracked._

_´Your skin is all flushed,´ she explained. ´You might have a fever.´_

_She really didn´t have the slightest notion of the effect she was having on him, he realized. And why should she? He could scarcely believe what she was doing to him. ´I don't think I´m running a fever,´ he answered, some irony in his voice. ´It's probably just the adrenaline.´_

_´If you say so…´ she replied unsure. Checking the wound again she gave a satisfied smile. ´I can dress the wound now.` As he sat up so she could wrap the bandage around his waist he was seized with the most irrational impulse every time he felt her fingers graze against his sides or stomach to catch her hands and pull her close. She was standing so close he could smell the sweet fragrance, something like vanilla, coming from her hair making his head spin. _

~o~

Finally she fastened the bandage at his side, accidently brushing her fingers against his flushed skin, leaving spots of fire where her skin touched his. If she noticed his reaction she did not let on. Giving the bandage a last tuck to make sure it was fastened enough, she instead moved to step away. The feeling of relief started to spread through his body but then it got pushed aside, rather rudely into a far corner in the back of his mind, by the strange, surprisingly aching feeling of future abandonement. And no matter how much the rational part of his mind tried to reasure him that it was right of him to let her go, that this was Isobel Crawley and her stepping away from him was the best possible move avaible, the more intuitive part instead told him that every inch she moved further apart from him became more and more wrong.

With his emotion in turmoil it did not help that Timothy felt her fingers gliding from his stomach. Again he felt the irrational impulse to catch her hand and pull her close.

But this time he gave in.

Without thinking about what he was doing his fingers closed around her wrist and kept her from stepping away. Her soft skin burned beneath his hand and surprised at his own action he looked down to where he was holding her. His heart sped up when he he took in the contrast of his darker, suncoloured fingers holding her pale delicate wrist and started beating heavily against his ribcage when he looked up to realise that her eyes were fixed on his hand just the same. An expression of gentle confusion stole into those light browns depths when she tried to discern what his action ment. More times than she could count he had made it clear to her that he disliked her out of some reason he did not care to discuss with her. It would have been even enough if he had just thrown everything that annoyed him about her into her face and then walked away – but he never did. And now he held her.

Worry stole into her eyes for a moment when Isobel noticed how easily his fingers had closed around her wrist, mingling with the notion that something was about to happen. Her mind tried to reasure herself that she was in for another argument. Another taking out of his anger on her, while another, more sensitive part noticed how soft his touch was. How well his fingers seemed to close around her wrist. How a gentle warmth spread through her arm and hand from where he held her.

Isobel took a deep breath and tried to calm her heart, which picked up speed and beat faster than before, while her mind tried to think of a reason why he kept her from stepping away. What the meaning behind this bold move was. But as much as she tried she could not think of a reason.

For a moment Timothy closed his eyes and the sensations of how her skin felt so soft beneath his fingers, so warm against his palm were flooding his mind. They drowned his thoughts, pulled the accusations he had made against her, the grudge he held against her into the deep darkness of his mind and instead swept those feelings, the attraction and longing he had tried to hide, to hold back, onto the shores of his conscious like the cargo of a wrecked ship in the night.

But even more important than what he was thinking was what he was feeling beneath his fingers. He felt her pulse throbbing through her veins. Strong and steady but slower than his own he felt it vibrating through him, slowly increasing in speed when he did not let go of her wrist.

Carefully he slid down from where he was sitting on the exam table, bringing himself closer to her by leaning back against its edge as when he was still sitting on it, still towering over her as he normaly did by just standing around. The sweet smell of her hair reached his nose again.

Her head was still bowed and he was still looking at her fair face when he felt her other hand cover the one still holding her wrist. For a moment he thought that she would try to pry his fingers loose, to break free from him and he was ready to let her go. Just like he was ready to accept the slap she'd possibly bestow on him but looking into her face he did not see determination settle on it. Instead a slight blush heated up her cheeks when he felt her gentle fingers squeezing his.

Isobel had to touch his hand on her wrist to feel it being real. To tell herself that he was really holding her there and squeezing it just confirmed what her turmoiled mind tried to tell her ever since she brushed her fingers against his skin while she had bandaged him up. This was real. It was really his skin beneath and over hers. And she had no inkling about what it ment.

Timothy looked down to her and saw her watching their hands intensively. Her confusion evident on her face and for a second he let his look wander further down to where she was holding his when something else catched his attention. Prying his gaze loose from their fingers and back up again he noticed a small strand of her wonderfully blond hair having escaped from the neatly hidden pins and now falling into her eyes. The more he looked at it the more it seemed to call him, to ask him to tuck it back in place. And before he knew what he was doing he lifted his hand up to her face to tuck it back into it rightful place.

And then he suddenly found himself gazing down into her eyes.

Isobel had noticed him reaching out to her face while she had been occupied with their hands and had turned because she had thought he'd push her away. Instead he stilled his hand only millimetres from her cheeks. She felt the warm of his fingers even though the air between them seemed to be an uncrossable distance.

His steel blue eyes were dark and send her shivering beneath his stare. He stroked his thumb over the steady rushing of her pulse in her wrist. The sensation of his light touch, the caress of her tender skin forced her to close her eyes against them. The touches too much for her mind to take, to understand the meaning behind it. He disliked her, didn't he? And yet here he was. Touching her. Caressing her. Looking at her like she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, the only woman he had ever really seen.

And he did it because that was what she was.

She knew that she should step away, to end this. The tension every day between them was the surest proof for it. But then what if the tension which forced him to act like this was the same? What if he always felt like he had to reach out to her but couldn't? The constant pressure would drive one mad, make one act in self-protection until it snapped. Let it break the thin borders of control and relieve itself.

And she wasn't sure if she minded. Maybe she did. Maybe she didn't. She couldn't think. A gentle fog of confusion and sensation spread from his long lean fingers gently stroking her face. It was the most wonderful touch she had felt ever since Reginald had left her behind in this world.

She didn't want it to stop.

No matter how scandalous it was, how wanton she must appear for wanting a half undressed man keep on touching her. For wanting this man to touch her. She did not care. She wanted him to do it.

Carefully he cupped her cheek in his palm and nearly gasped at the happyness roaring through every fibre of his being when he felt her pressing softly against his fingers in return. Not stepping away but accepting his touches - no, even encouraging him, allowing him to touch her. And maybe even, but he kept his thoughts from wandering too far into that particular direction, wanting him to do it.

He felt her fingers tighten on his where he still held and stroked her wrist. And then she slowly lifted their hands to press them against her stomach for a moment, breathing hard when he released her wrist and felt her move her hands over his. Stroking, caressing, turning his palm and pressing it against the stiff apron she was still wearing. But he did not care. Her hands were on his and his was on her stomach. Her soft warm body beneath his hand. A dream he had needed so often to chase out of his thoughts suddenly becoming reality.

Warmth spread through his hand and beneath it when she took a deep shuddery breath and he felt her moving beneath his touch.

With the gentlest of touches, nothing more than the kiss of a feather in the faintest of breezes he grazed his thumb over her lips. Marveled at the feeling of her soft mouth beneath his calloused fingers, about their paleness contrasting so intensely with the red of her inviting lips. He took in her perfecly rounded bottom lip, the slight curve of he corners, the soft wrinkles formed from years of smiling for everyone she met, anyone but him. A sharp small intake of breath and the quiet whimper accompanying it suddenly set his mind on fire. He had to kiss her. He needed to claim her lips with his own. To graze his teeth over her bottom lip and hear that whimper again.

But the sight of her fluttering eyelids kept him from leaning further down to press their mouths together.

"Isobel...", he rasped, wondering when his voice had become so hoarse. "Look at me.", it was not a command he gave her, but rather a plea. And for a moment he was sure that he would die when she did not open her eyes. She refused to look at him and he felt his stomach dropping. Something like ice began to run through his veins. He he made to step back. And then she slowly opened her eyes and blinked up at him.

He was mesmerized by her warm brown eyes. Whenever he looked at her his attention got caught by their depth and warmness. Deep brown pools of compassion and friendlyness, of determiantion to help each and every single one of their patients as best as she could. Shining bright, full of laughter and happyness, a sign of her cheerful nature he so resented and at the same time longed for himself. Not to have, but to see in her eyes when she looked at him as he had to admit to himself.

But these eyes which brightened up like a new summer day after a stormy night whenever they rested on her son never brightened up when they fell on him, never showed much warmness and that little twinkle of mischief whenever she teased Richard. Instead they turned cold, gained a caution, a reserve he knew he deserved. Because he looked at her just the same.

And yet here she stood in front of him and looked at him like she looked at others. With warmness, with care. With just a bit of confusion about what they were doing. And he saw something else. Something which heated the blood in his veins again, forced it to rush through his body. They were dark. So very dark with longing and he knew that they mirrored his own just so shockingly.

That one strand of hair still falling into her eyes also caught his attention again. It was nothing short but a siren's call. And he was Ulysses. Not bound to the mast by his crew but free to follow the song, to jump into the wild waters and swim until he reached that island where maybe not death but the certain chance of reprimands and disdain would wait for him.

He still reached out.

Softness brushed against his fingers when he stroked it back into place, the smell of her hair claiming his thoughts. It fogged his mind when he brushed his palm over her head or when he noticed its silkyness between his fingers. And she let him do it.

She winced slightly when he caught a hairpin in the mass of refrained blond locks. This little piece of metal got in his way of feeling more of her hair's wonderfully soft texture and with a small motion he carefully pulled it out of her hair. Keeping it in his hand when he ran his fingers further through her locks, hearing her breathing deepen when he found another one. Breathlessly Timothy freed the lock it held, too.

Carefully he tucked the hairpins into his trousers' pockets so they would not get lost while a thicker and longer strand tumbled from her head and down her face, giving free that sweet smell that first had made his head spin. Tentatively he run his fingers down the strand, curling it around them.

Deep golden fields of wheat, he remembered now.

That was the first he had thought when he had met her that first fateful day, turning around the corner too quickly and pushing the tray in her arms against her hips. It had been the first thing he'd noticed about her. That and its smell before he had felt himself fall for those beautiful eyes and the gentle smile.

He was hopelessly lost he realised before he tried to push the thought back into his mind. He had fallen for her even though he knew what she had done.

And still he ran his fingers around that curl and over her stomach.

For a moment he closed his eyes and let the sweet fragrance wash over him, trying to remember it for another moment in time. To let it return in the night where he would try to chase the vivid dreams away again, to fail in the end and just give in to the sensations and feelings of another day of unresolved tension and denial.

Although those dreams of how soft her skin would feel under his hands, how her lips would feel against his and her hands running over him promised to become reality very fast. Her hands had already rested on his chest and trailed over his stomach. He had already touched her. Now the only thing missing...

Isobel's heart started to beat so fast and hard in her chest that she was sure he could hear it. Her blood started rushing through her body, heat spread through her very being when his gaze wandered from her eyes to her lips. And before she knew what she was doing she bit it so hard that for a moment she was sure she had drawn blood. Slowly she ran the tip of her tongue over it to smoothen the pain and wet her suddenly very dry lips with no use. Seeing how his chest suddenly moved faster, hearing how his breathing increased only dried them out more.

He watched the moisture glisten, noted her delightfully parted lips and the gentle blush on her cheeks fastly increasing in intensity and heat as he let go of her lock and cupped her cheek again.

His eyes turned incredibly dark.

Her breath caught in her throat.

His hand on her stomach suddenly moved from beneath hers to her side. She felt it running over her hips before it slid around her back. And then he pulled her against him.

Blood rushed through her ears when her heart started beating so fast that if she had been able to form a coherent thought she might have worried about going to have a heart attack. Her cheek burned beneath his hand or maybe his fingers burned into her skin. She couldn't think anymore. Couldn't speak. Only felt his body against hers. Felt the heat of his naked chest through all the layers of clothing she wore. Felt the hot skin of his sides beneath her hands where she had placed them to steady herself from the sudden move.

When she looked up to him again she only noticed how he leaned forward.

And then he kissed her.

It wasn't the gentle kiss of a butterfly in the breeze or the first morning dew on the fields, rather a sea storm between the continent and England, a bush fire in the dry grasses of South Africa. It was the kiss of long lost lovers.

It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rought either. Maybe it wasn't the most sensual kiss but it was filled with the pure expression of no longer suppressed passion, the relieve of a tension long in coming, the breaking of the border between physical resentment and carnal need.

His mouth was hot against hers. Teasing, taking from her what he wanted and she found herself willingly surrendering to it. Demanding more from her, giving her what he could give and more. Worshipped the gentle touch of her sensual red lips against his own. Felt his heart burst with joy when she suddenly returned the passion with which he ran his tongue over the little imprint of her teeth with her own.

She moaned against his lips.

His hand on her back pressed her flush against him, making her feel every outline of his body, just like he felt every little outline, every little curve of her. Her corset, her hips, her breasts all pressed up against him. His other hand ran down her neck and over her chest, down her side and up her arm again. Lingering there for a moment before he let his hand fall down to her waist and gripped her there.

She felt him graze her bottom lip with his teeth, pulling it between his own and she gasped. Allowing him to deepen the kiss, wanting him to deepen the kiss. Feeling herself becoming undone in his arms as her hands trailed up his sides and back. Holding him just like he was holding her. Unwilling to let go.

One of her hands found its way up his neck and softly caressed him there. Holding his head down to her as she felt herself melting in his arms, ultimately she felt her knees giving out and only the safety of his strong arms around her back kept her from falling.

Just like the edge of the examination table which suddenly pressed high into her back.

But Isobel did not care if Timothy had moved her around or if she had turned on her own account, somehow losing her apron in the process which now lay carelessly discarded on the floor. All she cared about were his hands now running down her sides again. Over her hips and down to her bottom. Leaving a trail of heat behind that slowly seeped into her cloth and against her skin. He pressed against her. Forcing her to lean back against the table and she did not mind it like she should. No, if anything at all it exited her even more because it only brought them closer together, with him leaning over her, pressing his hips to her own. Letting her feel just how much she exited him.

His mouth left her lips and she let out a strangled breath when he trailed soft kisses down her jaw, nibbled on her neck and moved further down. Groaning against her skin when she massaged his neck with her fingers, running her other hand over his arm.

Suddenly Isobel felt herself sitting on the examination table where one second she hadn't even started to wonder about wether she should get up on it or not. And again she did not care if he had bodily moved her around again, lifted her up the table like she was that slim girl she had used to be and not the middle-aged mother who had gained a roundness to her hips she had always hoped she would be spared.

At least Timothy didn't seem to care about the way she looked as his hands trailed down from her bottom over her tighs and down to her knees while his mouth used her new elevated position to graze his teeth over th fragile skin of her collarbone and down to the opening of her blouse.

She moaned wantonly when he sucked on her collarbone, pressing his tongue against it before he trailed lower, not knowing that she'd judge herself for it in the morning when she'd have to choose a high collared blouse to hide it.

He left her collarbone behind and claimed her lips again, feeling her hands running over his strong shoulders and down his bare chest to his bandage. Gently she stroked his sides, making him moan into her mouth as the tickle had him winding against her knees. Then she trailed her fingers up again and through the coarse hair on his chest. He gasped into her mouth as she moaned quietly.

Their tongues touched and a shiver run down his back.

Her fingers wound into the hair in the nape of his neck as he gently pressed her knees apart but groaned in frustration when halfway her skirt suddenly refused to stretch further. She wiggled closer to the edge of the table but he pushed her back with his hands still resting on her knees.

And then she broke the kiss when she suddenly felt his hands under her dark blue skirt, trailing from her ankles over her stockinged calves to her knees, pulling up the garment and pressing her legs apart while he did so. She gasped for air, squeezed her already closed eyes even more shut as the feeling of his bare hands on her bare skin burned itself into her mind. The sensation forced her to breath hard and ache her back against him. He pressed his fingers into her soft flesh. She threw her head back and moaned loudly, not caring if someone heard, not caring how wanton she behaved - but simply feeling.

For a moment she felt him kiss the hollow of her neck before he trailed his mouth down to the opening of her blouse and into it. His hands trailed higher still, stroking over the sides of her tighs, pushing her skirt and the hem of her short shift up still and let them rest in the midths of her tighs. A whimper escaped her when his hands slid from her skin and she tried to wiggle close, pulling him forward with her hands on his shoulders but he stopped her. Instead he ran his fingers over the inside of her tigh, eliciting a deep throaty moan from her, before he stepped between her knees, gripped her bottom and pulled her against him.

And she felt his warm body against her. She felt _him _against her.

And he wanted to be closer still. But there was still time. They had all the time in the world, at least it felt to them like that. Neither Timothy nor the woman in his arms were thinking about the door being unlocked during the day in a busy hospital.

Isobel leaned forward to nibble on the sensible skin of his neck, placing a gentle kiss on his throat and trailing her tongue down to his collarbone, sucking on it until she heard him groan. The corner of his mouth curled when she placed a kiss against it, to then kiss him fully. Teasing his mouth with her tongue by running it over his lip but never meeting his. He let out a frustrated groan as his hands left her bottom and held her face to demand of her to deepen the kiss while her hands fell from his shoulders down to the belt of his trousers.

Smart, sneaky woman.

With ease she made to open it when suddenly his hands caught hers and stopped her from proceeding any further, feeling himself tortured by his own doings. He leaned his head back and pried his lips from hers, missing her mouth instantly when its softness slipped away.

Eyes met. Dark and dazzed warm brown ones staring confusedly into dark longing steel blue ones. Isobel tried to understand why she wasn't allowed to do what they both wanted and he lightly squeezed her hands under his before he took her hands from his belt and placed them on his chest again.

"Not yet.", he whispered when he lent down to kiss her again. "Later.", breathed he against her lips before he gently caught her bottom lip between his teeth.

He had to physically restrain himself from opening his belt himself and simply taking her then and there. He needed to feel more of her first. Needed to explore more of her soft skin. Needed to find another spot like her collarbone that made her moan breathlessy and wiggle against him. He simply needed more of her before he could lose himself in her.

Her hands wandered up his chest and through the hairs there again before she ran her fingers over his shoulders and into the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. Her legs wound themselves around his hips and for a moment he gripped the undersides of her knees to hold her in place, to help her keep her balance while everything in him wanted to press all of her tightly and flush against him, to push up her skirt the last few inches, unbuckle his belt and let her feel just what exactly she was doing to him. He wanted to make her forget her own name, to ache violently against him when it all became too much. Wanted to hear her moan his name because she knew no other word in her lust anymore. But he couldn't reduce her to a quivering mass of trembling woman, clinging to him, holding on to him because otherwise she would lose herself. He couldn't. At least not yet.

The soft skin in the hollow of her knee felt soft, like velvet beneath his stroking fingertips. Her breath hitched high in her throat and for a second her tighs pressed against his hips, just like her fingers tightened on the back of his neck. But he did not notice the slight arousing pain she inflicted on him, instead he bathed in the fond knowledge of having found another spot that seemed to bring her pleasure.

He let go of her knees and her fingers stopped inprinting themselves in his neckmuscles. Instead he ran his hands up her back and into her hair while her calf slid up and down over the back of his tigh. Carefully she broke the kiss and smiled at him for a second, relishing in the sight of those dimples she had come to care about the only time he had smiled at her but refused to admit to herself ever since. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone, nibbled gently on it before she then leaned against his chest for a moment. As she felt his hands holding her safely against him she rested her head on his broad shoulder, needing the small stolen moment of quiet slowness to calm her racing heart and regain her breath. His musky scent, uniquely like him, strong but equally calming, enveloped her and clouded her mind.

Her smooth calf rubbing over his tigh, her head on his shoulder and her warm body, her breasts pressed against his chest drove him mad. Desire raced through his veins like fire and her content little sigh only added fuel to it but he held her still. But he kept her safe in his arms for a moment, let her regain her breath from his all too demanding kisses.

Timothy had long forgotten who she was and why he was resenting her so much. For a moment he did not even remember what they were doing and what had let them to this. He simply held her.

Here in his arms she was just a woman. A woman he would have liked to meet decades ago, maybe when she still had been a young woman, barely more than a sweet girl at school and not a scheeming harpie.

He felt her soft hair tickle his chin and his eyes closed when the sweet fragrance of her hair, something like vanilla, reached his nose again. He wanted to bury his nose in it and for a moment he managed to keep himself from it. Then her breath stroked over his skin and he gave in. Burying his nose inside her hair he gently kissed her head. Felt the strands tickle his lips, her locks caress his cheek while his hands stroked gently over her back.

It was a moment of unexpected intimacy, and they held on to it as long as they could.

A hairpin poked into the corner of his mouth and broke the spell as Timothy moved his hand to gently remove it out of her hair. Then he removed another one and laid that down next to the first on the exam table. He found some more as she sat back up again, her hands stroking slowly over his chest, closing her eyes when he ran his fingers through those beautiful blond locks. Twisting the pins out of it Timothy found himself hypnotized by the play of light ghosting over it when Isobel gently tilted er head to the side, exposing her neck to him again.

Warm breath grazed the skin on her neck before his lips tenderly brushed against it while he pulled at a strand of her hair. She whimpered at the pain, biting her lip when he turned the pin again and only made it worse. He murmured his apology to her. One time, two times, before he growled in frustration because he had tangled her hair into a mess and his fingers right into it.

"Allow me", she breathed against his lips, kissing them lightly before she tilted her head back to the side and ran her fingers over his to find out what he had done. Sure and determined her fingers worked his free in no time, smiling at him when she continued to pull hairpins out of their hiding places.

There had never been a sight more beautiful in his life he decided then and there. Venus herself was unpinning her flowing blond locks for him, seducing him with the soft concentrated look in her dark eyes, biting her soft lips swollen from their kisses and the soft pressure of her her warm tighs around his hips. And then he noticed her body moving.

Trying to pull out a hidden pin on the back of her neck she lifted both her arms further up to reach it, moving something else up altogether. Like a child in a candystore he watched her breasts rise in her corset and pressing tightly against her blouse whenever she took a deep or shaky breath.

She gasped when she suddenly felt his hands on the sides of her breasts and his thumbs stroking over the swell of them through her cream coloured blouse. His lips found her collarbone again, slowly traveling down into the opening of her blouse, nudging the material to the side as far as he could. Growing frustrated with the limited space until he popped the first pearly button open with nimble but impatient fingers.

He teased his mouth over her soft skin and deeper into her blouse, hearing her moan as she felt his hot breath caress the new pale skin she so effectively held hidden at daytime. A lock tumbled from her head and stroked his cheek before it came to rest in the opening of her blouse. She wanted to pull him to her again but his hands gripped her arms barely above the elbows and held them in place, before he let the tip of his tongue follow the lock as far down as he could.

Her breath hitched and her legs tightened when the sensual sensation of him teasing his tongue into her blouse and over her chest combined with the feeling of his thumbs stroking over the sensitive skin at the inside of her upper arms. A deep throaty moan escaped her and although she enjoyed his touch on her arms she wrangled them loose when they started to tingle and wound them around his shoulders.

They did not know how but suddenly he wasn't standing in front of her anymore but kneeling over her on the examination table, feeling her legs loosening her hold on his hips, hearing soft clatters when they send her hairpins flying over the floor.

Timothy started to get up but Isobel held him to her. Stroking a hand over his warm cheek, feeling as if both their skin and bodies were on fire she then pulled him down.

"Leave them. We can search for them later."

Taking in her flushed face and skin while she ran her hands through the hairs on his chest and down to the bandage that had started this all he made her wish his command. There was time enough to search for those hairpins after-

Timothy let out a deep groan when Isobel stroked her hand over his trousers.

All efforts to hang on to the last of his coherrent thoughts suddenly dimished like morning fog in the rising sun. He had to rest his forehead on her chest when the sensations became too much, when his blood rushed from his head, when her closeness stoked the fire of his desire and her soft determined touch became the most important thing in the world.

His hot breath seeped through her blouse and she wiggled beneath him, wanting more. There was far too much clohing between them and she wanted it gone. Her other hand found his belt again and started to pull it open when his trembling hand suddenly closed around her wrist again.

"Isobel."

Desire swung in his voice and hearing her christian name spoken in it would have been her undoing if she wasn't already feeling herself longing for him. He tenderly pressed a kiss to her wrist, feeling her pulse racing beneath his lips, joining his, matching his in speed and strength. Then he pinned her wrist beside her head, looking down at her for a moment. And felt his breath hitch in his chest when he saw the beauty lying beneath him, her lips swollen, warm eyes dark with desire and her blond hair framing her face, tumbling over the table, shining golden from the light grazing over it.

Venus. Like he had thought before.

He leaned down, stealing another deep and hasty, longing and needy kiss from her while he laced the fingers of her other hand through her as he took them from his belt. He pressed their palms together, squeezing his against hers, stroking his thumb over the inside of her palm and her wrist. Turning the touch paradoxically more intimate than hers could have ever been.

And then suddenly, just for a moment though, everything slowed down.

The haste of their deep burning passion turned into something much slower, much purer. The desperate need for their skin to touch, for them to touch, to meet in the most intimate way changed into the strong need to feel each other. To feel her against him and not just beneath, to feel her for herself and not for the simple satisfaction of longing need.

His lips against hers slowed the haste, the lust he was kissing her with into slow and deep passion, her moans turned deeper, more throatier when their tongues danced the slow dance of gentle longing.

Slowly he settled between her legs, feeling her bare tigh rubbing against his hip when she moved her leg up to get him more comfortable, bringing him closer to her than ever before since this madness started. By the time he pulled back from the kiss she was panting heavily.

His weight above her, the pressure of his body on her, the feeling of _him _against her drove her mad. She wanted to feel him closer. So much closer than they were but he refused to let go of her hand and wrist. Instead he grazed his teeth over her chest, while he turned her hand around and pressed it on her breast. Running his fingers over it he groaned into her skin.

Slowly she pulled her hand from beneath his, running it over the edge of the bandage on his side, losing all ability to speak when he suddenly massaged her breasts through her blouse and corset. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he opened another button on her blouse. Immediately she felt him caressing his lips over the new expanse of skin. Hot breath cooling on her deeply flushed skin, making her shiver with exitement when he opened another one, revealing the top of her corset, kissing her skin anew.

But he did not stop. She felt him open another button and another, pushing the material to the side, revealing more and more of her creamy white corset to him, letting the cool air of the exam room rush against the swell of her breast above her corset. And then he ran his tongue over it, bit the fragile skin gently with his teeth, soothed it with his lips. The scent of the valley between her breasts, her scent, fogging his mind, causing him to bite the side of one of them too hard in his exitement. Making her whimper in pain and her fingers digging into his shoulders. Causing her skin to bruise and her to nearly scream at her own stupidity in the morning to come. But for now she simply ached her back up into him.

Timothy gently murmured his apology into Isobel's chest while opening her blouse and pushing it away, her name on his lips lost between her breasts. Leaving the last button over the small belt around her waist and at the top of her dark blue skirt alone.

She stroked her hands over his chest and down his side, feeling the material of the bandage beneath her hands changing into the warm skin of his back. Felt his muscles moving beneath her hands and a deep low groan escaping his lips when she gently massaged them while aching into him.

Isobel felt Timothy's hand slide possesively over her knee, pressing it gently, caressing the skin in the hollow of it with his thumb, getting a quiet moan and more of her aching up into him as a reward, forcing her breath to come in deep pants before he slid it up to her tigh. Holding it high against his hip, pushing it further up to rest on his waist while sliding his fingers around it. Running his fingertips over the back of it, forcing her to gasp his name and touch his hand to hold it there. Reminding him of how he much he wanted to lose himself in her but could not. Not yet. Soon. Very soon.

Her other hand wound itself into the slightly moist hair in the nape of his back, caressing his scalp with her fingertips. The one on his holding her tigh slowly traveled up his wrist, gripping it for a moment. She felt his pulse beating hard and fast beneath her fingertips before she let out a content sight.

She had to close her eyes against the sensation of him squeezing her tigh or how his fingers brushed against the swell of her breasts as he started to untie the little lace on top of her corest with his other hand. Slowly pulling at the small knot he nuzzled his lips from her collarbone down over her heaving chest, feeling her hand sliding up his wrist and arm, the fingers in his hair tightening and keeping his head on her breasts, even though he never intended to part his lips from them and their delicious pale softness again. She ached up into him, her blond locks spilling over the table while she took a deep shaky breath.

A deep throaty moan escaped her at the sensation. His name somewhere mingled in it.

There was not time to lose anymore.

She felt it. He felt it.

They were more than willing to share their bodies with each other. Consequences and who they were long forgotten. They had to feel each other now. No matter what.

And then the door opened.

~~o~~

_A/N: Congratulations! You made it this far – hopefully without feeling the need to throw my cookie-tin at my head. In case you do, feel free. It might just set me working on my other fic again.  
><em>_As always, you find the cookies behind the review button. And this time they're a broad selection of christmas cookies.  
><em>_There's more to come if you like... just nothing like this again. Otherwise I never lose the red color on my cheeks... ^^_


	2. And down again

**The usual disclaimer**: Downton Abbey belongs to Julian Fellowes... If it were mine Isobel would have way more fun. Timothy Wellington does belong to the wonderful Miss Puppet, I'm just borrowing him and promise to put him back later.  
><strong>Other:<strong> After we left Timothy and Isobel on the exam table in the last chapter (which they definitely did not mind. ;)) here's now the second part featuring the door opening. Enjoy. :D

~~o~~

And then the door opened.

Richard Clarkson stopped dead in his tracks.

To say he was surprised at the scene that unfolded right in front of his eyes when he opened the door to the little exam room was an understatement. Out of reflex he wanted to close the door again, to take a deep breath and shake his head in disbelief against the images his overly frayed nerves seemed to produce to relieve some of his tension in a rather interesting way. But when his hand refused to gripp the cold handle more tightly and pull the door close again he realised that it was not a trick of light he was seeing. Still ruffled from opening another door earlier and finding his best friend stabbed and bleeding on the floor, his chief nurse trying to help him and a beggar suffering from alcohol poisoning, he believed that the day had been exiting enough already. But this...

He had thought he'd be met by refined silence once he opened the door, the two occupants of the room having come to the conclusion that no speaking would be the best policy. A full blown argument between the two stubborn mules who otherwise led the hospital with him, complete with a shouted verbal sparring that would even leave the Dowager Countess speechless would not have surprised him either. Or Timothy stitching himself up because he had send Isobel away. But this sight... he definitely had not prepared himself for this.

Finding his chief nurse and his best friend in the throes of passion.

Really, seeing his best friend on the exam table, kneeling over his chief nurse, with one of his hands up her skirt, roaming over her pale thigh while his other fumbled with her corset's laces, had been the last thing he had expected. Just like seeing her hand gliding over the very hand on her thigh and up his arm, the fingers of her other hand buried in the blond hair in the nape of Timothy's neck, holding his head in place when Timothy eagerly seemed to trail kisses down her collarbone and to the soft swell of her chest, Isobel aching her back up against him, head wantonly thrown back, her loose locks grazing the table and swollen lips slightly parted.

Well, seeing it this way he was met by refined silence and no argument.

For the briefest of moments he thought they looked like a painting. Or a statue.

Called "The Lovers".

Or rather "The caught Lovers."

At least according to the absolute shocked expressions that suddenly could be found on their heated faces when the sound of someone clearing his throat rather loudly registered in their passion fuddled minds. Two pairs of eyes suddenly looked at him. One blue and dazed, the other light brown and surprised. For a second they just stared at him. Completely motionless, breathing heavily, stuck in the positions they were caught in - Timothy still holding her thigh, her skin turning white were he gripped it too hard, his other hand resting on the swell of her breast with the lace of her corset now hanging motionless in the air, Isobel still with her hands buried in his hair and strongly clutching his bizeps.

The tension became unbearable as awkwardness and embarrassement settled slowly but tangibly over the disturbed passion in the room. Someone needed to do something to break it and if he wanted it or not Richard was the only one able enough to take a grip of his thoughts.

He couldn't help himself but say the first thing that came to his mind. But the moment "Just ignore me and do continue." had left his mouth he somehow doubted that it was the right choice of words. Or even the right thing to say. But still, seeing the realisation dawning on their faces about what they were doing and how it exactly was what it looked like could have been hilarious if it hadn't been for the little fact of who they were doing it with.

Timothy's expression changed into one of determination to reprimand Richard for what he said but the latter saw that the former was at a loss for words. Saying that it wasn't what it looked like, that it was a misunderstanding somehow did not seem an option for the still over his chief nurse leaning doctor. Still he tried and only looked like a speechless goldfish with ruffled hair. Finally the taller doctor settled for the easiest thing to say.

"Richard!", Timothy's voice sounded strangely hoarse and breathless as Isobel let out a rather squeaky sound. Reality finally having caught up with the two of them. And then they broke into hasty movements.

Isobel suddenly strived to sit up, the closeness of Timothy's warm body above her – against her – and his heated skin beneath her fingers suddenly pressing upon her. Making her feel caught in an enclosed space. She breathed with uneven gasps while pulling her open blouse close, turning away from Richard who averted his eyes at the sight of Isobel's chest heaving in her corset, trying to at least hold on to the last bit of modesty that remained. She knocked the wind out of Timothy in her haste as he let go of her corset's lace and tigh, attempting to get back on his knees to let her go. His hand glid from her breast, causing her breath to hitch and his fingers to tingle painfully. For a moment there was a wrangle on the exam table, just like before, but this time it was not in passion but in embarrassement, the mortification of having been caught behaving reckless like young people in the hay settling deep into their minds.

Accidently they hit their heads together, the mass of her blond locks freely bouncing about to soften the blow while Isobel tried to scramble from the exam table, nearly falling down in her haste, forcing Timothy to reach for her. She jumped back from his grasp as if he had slapped her, the shock of who nearly had seduced her written on her heated but fastly paling face, confusion and slowly into panic turning shock in her wide brown eyes. Her skirt fell down to her ankles when her feet unevenly hit the floor and she stepped, more likely stumbled back from the table, starting hastily to bind the lace on top of her corset to then try to close all the open buttons of her dishevelled looking blouse with trembling fingers.

Timothy glid from the table, groaning in pain when the movement pulled at his neat and clean stitches. He leaned back against the exam table, gripped it hard and desperately refused to turn around to the other doctor standing in the room. Not moving until his pulse stopped rushing through his veins and his breathing returned back to normal. Instead he watched the nurse he had nearly seduced fighting with the buttons he so carelessly and easily had popped open. He tried to ignore the feeling of loss and abandonement, of the cool air in the room rushing against his heated skin. Or the sensation of her pressed tightly against him, moving beneath him and stroking her hands over his chest, running her palms over the neat bandage around his stomach in her search for more of his bare skin. He bit his lip, holding back the moan that wanted to escape him while he still felt hers caressing over his.

From where he was standing Richard could not see how Isobel closed her eyes while fumbling with each of the small pearly buttons or how her lips quivered, her not being sure if it was from her eratic breathing, the violent beating of her heart or the desperate holding on to the tears that wanted to escape. He only saw how she lend her head back, her long blond hair falling over her shoulder and grazing her back, creases now showing in her mere minutes ago still neat blouse.

Seeing her hair flowing so freely Richard took a look at the floor and found countless hairpins scattered over the wooden boards. A poor testament of the care and patience with which she had pinned her hair up in the morning.

When she needed three attempts to close the button resting over her corset's front lace her fragile resolve nearly crumbled under the pressing desperation. She tried to hold back, to close the button without a fuss, to fumble it close but her trembling fingers wouldn't get it in place. A single tear escaped the slowly breaking damn of her emotions.

The realisation that she had nearly given herself to a man who seemed to hate her without reason, who stayed away from her like she had been exposed to plague itself, who was shorttempered and treated her with ignoring her existence in the best of times came rushed back into her mind and violently robbed her of her shaky breaths. She wantonly had offered her body to him to take and her mind to mess with. What made it even worse was that it had been what she had wanted to do. She had wanted him to take it. Desperately she tried to close the button over her corset's lace again but only found her hands shaking more violently than before.

A quiet and strangled sounding "Oh, God." escaped her lips and reached Richard's ears. For a moment he wondered if he had imagined it but the it came again. Followed by another. And another.

"Isobel.", Timothy tried to reach out to her, to help her close the stubborn button, feeling the shame of being responsible for breaking her steadfastness like this far too strongly.

"No..." She shied away from his touch. Refusing to let herself be touched again by him even if it was nowhere going to be like on top of the exam table. To let him take their clearly defined relationship and pull it down into an abyss of turmoiling emotions, deep confusion and breaking resentment to see it destroyed by a moment of passion. How was she ever to look him into the eye again? Or Richard for that matter?

Timothy let his hand fall to his side, rubbing the other over the bandage which had started this all. For a moment he knew not what to do while standing at the exam table, watching Isobel how she tried to dress herself with upshaken feelings, the heat of embarrassement grazing her cheeks so much more beautifully than his.

The thought that she needed to understand what had just happened between them, what had caused him to lose control like that and had made him touch her like they were lovers reunited after a long absence urged itself into his mind. He wanted her to understand that he had not played with her, that it was her who caused him to lose control of his emotions and that he had long needed to feel her hands on his skin and hear his name from her lips. But he couldn't. His minds was blank and he frantically searched for words.

He just felt the need to say something, anything that came to his mind, to break the silence.

"Nurse Crawley"

Except that.

Richard saw Isobel tense violently when she heard her title out of Timothy's mouth. For the breathing part of a second Richard hoped she would not turn around and slap the other doctor before the thought that it was her good right to do so entered his mind. Deep regret for what he just said grazed over Timothy's face and settled deep in his eyes. Again he reached out to her. And again she backed away.

"I'm so so-"

"Doctor Wellington- I-", Isobel cut in before she broke the sentence off when their eyes met for the blink of an eye. Richard felt himself hold a breath as he watched the other two exchange the short but intense look. Silence settled over the room, new tension pressed down on them and for a moment all Richard could hear was his own heartbeat, speeding up in anticipation of what they would do. And then it broke with Isobel turning away from Timothy, pulling her gaze from his.

She closed the top button of her blouse, the faint rustling barely noticable to Richard but in Timothy's ears it bashed up like the roaring sea against the cliffs of Dover. Unyielding, bustling, there for a second and then gone. But in this case not returning. The following silence was just as insufferable to him. To escape the sight of her turning away to him he leaned down with hurting stitches and picked up her apron lying on the floor where he had carelessly let it fall down while claiming her lips passionately with his.

The stiff material felt so different now than from before. Cold and rough did it feel between his fingers, so different from the warm and soft skin he found hidden in her blouse. Timothy supressed the groan that wanted to escape him when his mind tried to turn back to the soft paleness beneath his lips. Not here. Not with her still in the room. Not with Richard watching them with no apparent judgement on his face. Not yet. Not again. Not ever.

Stretching his hand he held the apron with softly trembling fingers out to her and she took it without looking at him. Grazing his fingers with her own – those slender fingers that had sewed his cut close and buried themselve in his hair. He bid his lip. And tried to ignore Richard's eyes and their imploring gaze resting on him.

"Please, Isobel.", he wanted her to look at him again. To listen to what he had to say even though he himself did not know which words were still left for him to say to her.

She felt the coldness of the apron press against her fingers and Timothy's eyes on her face but she couldn't turn around. She knew not if it was because she simply wasn't physically able or if she simply did not want to. She kept her eyes fixed on the floorboards, the cupboard at the wall and Richard's shoes, on anything that wasn't the exam table and the doctor next to her.

Carefully she took a deep shaky breath, closing her eyes to concentrate on banning the tremble out of her voice, wanting to say the words before he did. But her voice nearly broke itself at the words she choked out, not really wanting but needing to say them.

"This never happened."

Three little words. Simple but meaningful, that's what they were. With the power to break both, the person they were spoken too and the one forcing herself to speak them. Timothy felt the heat draining out of his body, leaving him cold and nearly wishing for her to take the words back before he realised that she was right. That forgetting maybe was the best action they could follow. There was no chance for them to do something else, to change their lives around by allowing another person in, just because it was this particular other person. How could he ever trust her? After all she had done?

Unbeknown to him her thoughts tried to hold a tight grip on her feelings. She had said the words and she meant them, even though a part of her wanted to scream that he should just forget them.

Three little words. Violently he kept his mind from thinking about three other little words that held a meaning able to break a person but also to cause unbelievable happiness. Happiness they did not deserve, that they couldn't afford themselves. And still, the more his confused mind tried to despise her anew, a part of him, revolutionary thought or his heart tried to hold on to her and the feelings she had created in him when she whispered his name.

"Isobel..."

She stepped away from him towards Richard, her breathing getting unregular again, her mind and emotion in turmoil, pressing her apron to her chest and looking as if she waited to be reprimanded like a little girl.

"I- Doctor Clarkson- I-", she blushed furiously and Richard smiled at her to ease her worry, to calm her down. Then he reached for the door handle and opened it slowly for her to step through and out of the room. To leave the oppressing feeling of embarrassement, disaster and disrupted longing behind. He told her to use his office to calm down.

"I – things need attention.", she told him nervously but with a look of pure gratefulness, her blond locks framing her face and still falling openly down her back. Then she darted out of the exam room, leaving the two doctors behind.

Richard closed the door behind her.

Slowly turning around to Timothy, to whom the quiet clicking sound suddenly felt like the foreshadowing of his final moments on earth, Richard took a deep breath and then looked at his fellow physician. Guilt stood in the normaly unwavering steel blue eyes that suddenly weren't able to meet his and Timothy's whole, still undressed, upper body seemed to sag. Richard watched his best friend run a hand first over the bandage around his stomach and then over his face. A tiredness that hadn't been there minutes before suddenly seemed to settle on the other man and he leaned against the exam table again.

He looked up and Richard calmly meet his gaze.

"Richard...", Timothy seemed to deflate in front of him. His best friend, the steadfast but unmovable object - so different to the unstoppable force of nature that Isobel Crawley had turned out to be in his life - seemed to turn into an anxious and tired little schoolboy in front of him. A schoolboy who knew he had messed up and had to face his father for it now.

Luckily Richard was not his father, nor was Timothy a schoolboy.

Richard shifted from one foot to another and looked at the other doctor. Feeling a grin slowly spreading over his face before he said the words that he should have said when he first entered the room.

"You know, I wanted to ask how you are doing but I think I already got my answer."

All he got as an answer was a deep groan.

~~o~~

_A/N: I hope you liked it. If you did please leave a review and have the obligatory cookie. ^^  
><em>_There's a third part planned... now that Isobel is out of the room it's time for some talk from man to man... _


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